Falling Up
by Blue Mitten
Summary: Dick Grayson's first few hours in stately Wayne Manor.


A/N: This story is all mine, an original work. I'm not as good as my sis but I just want to see what people think. So, if you want to, leave me a comment and let me know. Thanks for reading! :)

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to DC and I'm not making any money off of this story. Also, I'm not good at characterization so I doubt any of them will be even close to their canon selves. Sorry. Like my sister says: I write it the way it comes out of my head. ;-)

* * *

The boy hadn't moved in three hours. Five hours ago, his parents had fallen to their deaths. Four hours ago, Commissioner Gordon had approved Bruce Wayne's request to take the child home. Normally, he wouldn't have allowed it. But there were mitigating circumstances: there was no space in any orphanage or group home, CPS refused to let the boy stay with the circus and the young orphan was about to be sent to a detention center.

So now here they were, the boy curled into himself on the dark-blue chair in the living room of Wayne Manor and the man sitting on the couch with his elbows on his knees. Bruce had stared at the child for several minutes, not quite sure how to begin. The next ten minutes were spent with his chin resting on his hands while he stared absently at nothing. Now he was alternating between holding his head while staring at the floor and standing up to pace quietly around the room.

Alfred, the faithful butler who had practically raised Bruce, was dusting everything in sight. He had attempted to talk to the boy in the limo but all that had done was bring on a fresh wave of silent sobs as he held himself while rocking back and forth. The white-haired man had tried again when they entered the living room. But the child had made a beeline for the chair farthest away from the door and had immediately curled up on his left side, facing away from the men.

Bruce had tried to help him out of the car, but the boy had flinched away from the touch. The nine-year-old had stoically followed Alfred up the walk and into the Manor, never looking back or even glancing around. Even the grand entrance had escaped the child's attention, his eyes dropping to the floor as soon as he entered the house.

"Richard?" Bruce said softly.

"Dick?" he whispered as he remembered the words from the owner of the circus, Mr. Haly, who had told him that the boy preferred the shorter nickname.

There was no response to either word and Bruce sighed quietly. What had he been thinking when he had offered to take the boy for the night? How was he, the man who had always been terrible at dealing with any type of emotion, supposed to help the last of The Flying Graysons?

"Are you hungry, Master Dick? I can make you something to eat. Or would you rather sleep, young sir?"

Dick didn't even flinch and Alfred inaudibly repeated the sigh of the man he had raised. There had to be something they could do, even if it was just taking him upstairs and allowing him to have some privacy in a bedroom. But they were both concerned about his reaction if either one of them attempted to pick him up or even touch him.

Suddenly a small hand swept across the hidden face, his first movement since he had curled up in the chair. Both Bruce and Alfred could see the tears that glistened in the bright lights of the room as the boy lowered his hand. He was still crying, without making a sound or movement, and Bruce stood up and began to pace again.

"Th…ank you."

The words were soft and full of grief. Bruce glanced at Alfred, who nodded encouragingly. Slowly, the millionaire walked over to the chair and crouched beside it.

"For what?"

Alfred cleared his throat loudly and Bruce looked back at him. The butler mouthed, "You're welcome" as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Um, you're welcome," Bruce stated.

"I'm…sorry."

Dick choked on the last word and Bruce wanted to reach out and turn the boy around. He wanted to see the young face, try to erase some of the pain he knew was etched all over the youthful features. But he didn't think Dick would allow it, so he refrained.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Dick."

Bruce glanced back at Alfred again and saw the same emotion that he knew was on his own face: confusion. Nothing that had happened tonight had been the boy's fault so neither man had any idea why the orphan would think it necessary to apologize.

"I'm intruding."

"No," Bruce countered, "you're not. I offered to take you in and the commissioner agreed. Would I have done that if I considered you to be an intrusion?"

The only response was a soft sigh and Bruce shook his head.

"I…messed up…your nice chair."

A loud sniffle followed the sentence that was spoken with a shaking voice.

"It's washable, young sir," Alfred replied gently.

The boy slowly turned his head and his light-blue eyes flicked from the face of Bruce to that of Alfred. Immediately he faced the back of the chair again, a strangled sob tearing itself from his throat.

"I…can't…"

Dick trailed off as his back began heaving. Bruce recognized the first sign of a panic attack but wasn't sure if he should even touch the boy.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred exclaimed. "Help him, sir!"

"I…" Bruce started but gave up and slid his arms under the small, trembling body.

He stood up as he scooped the boy into his own chest. The man could feel the irregular speed of the boy's heartbeat and see the sweat beading up on the small forehead. Dick's eyes were wide and full of terror and he was biting his bottom lip so hard that he was drawing blood.

"Hey, kiddo, calm down," Bruce carefully demanded as he returned to the couch.

The millionaire laid the child on the sofa and knelt beside him. He ran his large hand through the dark, messy hair of the boy and then gently grabbed Dick's much smaller hand. Placing it on his own chest, Bruce began taking deep, slow breaths.

"Can you breathe with me? Try to relax, kiddo, and try to match me."

Dick's face was pale, his eyes were rimmed with red and blood was now sliding down his left cheek. But he tried. He gasped and panted and wheezed and finally, after two and a half minutes, was able to slow down. Another two minutes passed before he could completely match the breathing of the man beside him.

Alfred was also by his side now, holding a damp washcloth and dabbing at the light stream of red that was rapidly drying. The blood had traveled past his jawline, down his neck and was dripping onto the ivory fabric of the couch. But the butler was unconcerned about the piece of furniture, choosing instead to completely erase any evidence of injury from the boy's face.

"Sorry," Dick whispered again as his eyes finally focused on the darker ones of Bruce.

"No need to apologize, Dick. It's a normal human reaction to stress and trauma."

"Master Bruce!" Alfred admonished quietly as Dick burst into tears again.

"What did I…?"

"You could have stopped at the word 'reaction', sir, instead of reminding him of what he's just been through!"

"Oh."

That was something that hadn't occurred to the millionaire and he felt slightly guilty.

"They're gone," Dick whispered sadly as the tears abruptly stopped flowing. "I'm never…they're _gone_!"

"I'm so sorry, Master Dick," Alfred replied when Bruce didn't respond.

"NO!" the boy yelled, pushing the men away and standing up. "NO, NO, NO!"

He suddenly raced out of the room, heading for the front door.

"DICK!" Bruce shouted as he ran after him.

But the boy was fast and was already out the door and sprinting across the lawn.

"There's nowhere to go, kiddo!" Bruce yelled as he, too, began sprinting.

That sentence stopped the boy in his tracks and Bruce, in order to keep from running over him, veered right. It threw him off balance and he tumbled to the ground but immediately popped back up. He was, after all, Batman.

Bruce brushed the grass and dirt off his clothes while carefully studying Dick's face. It had crumpled into despair and unshed tears were shining in his eyes. He suddenly collapsed to the ground and Bruce was by his side in less than five seconds.

"Dick? Can you hear me, kiddo?"

The boy's face was completely emotionless, his eyes were blank and he seemed to be staring right through the man. He wasn't even trembling anymore and Bruce realized that Dick had gone from panicking to anger and straight into shock.

Picking him up for the second time in less than five minutes, he returned to the Manor. Alfred greeted him at the door, grimacing in sympathy at the sight of the limp but not unconscious body in his charge's arms.

"The bedroom next to your room is ready for him, sir."

Nodding, Bruce started up the stairs. Turning right as he arrived at the top, he passed three doors and walked through the fourth, which was wide open and waiting for its new occupant. He strode across the mahogany carpet to the middle of the room and laid Dick on the king-size bed. The boy looked so small and helpless and Bruce felt a rush of some emotion he couldn't recognize swell in his chest.

Alfred had joined them and was staring in astonishment. Bruce had a _sympathetic_ frown on his face and was gently brushing the dark bangs away from the empty, light-blue circles of the child!

The butler's eyes grew wider and his amazement turned into shock when Bruce sat down on the bed. He began whispering and Alfred could just barely make out the words.

"It's okay, kiddo, I'll keep you safe. You don't have to worry, I'll take care of you. I'll protect you from the nightmares you're going to have and from the evils of this world. We can get through this."

Tears were sliding down Alfred's cheeks, tears that he hadn't even noticed were there. The boy had been with them for less than six hours but had already created a crack in the heavy wall around Bruce's heart.

"Can I stay with you?"

The whisper came from the boy this time. Alfred was both relieved and slightly worried. Bruce had said those things while Dick had been in shock. Was he about to regret his words?

Bruce was staring into the grief-stricken eyes of the child. Dick was staring right back, his eyes pleading for understanding and support.

"Yes," Bruce murmured, not really sure why he had just agreed to let the boy stay. It was supposed to be just for the night but now he was here for good?

"I mean…"

Bruce trailed off when his faithful butler laid a firm hand on his shoulder. He recognized the meaning: you've already said yes and he's been through too much for you to change your answer now.

"Th…ank you," Dick responded quietly, going back to the words that had broken his silence in the living room.

A large yawn escaped his mouth and now the boy was struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Go to sleep, Dick."

"Will you…never mind…I don't want to bother you."

Alfred was stunned again as he listened to the answer from his charge.

"Yes, kiddo, I'll stay with you tonight."

Alfred turned and walked out of the room, making a mental note to put a new event on the millionaire's calendar: find out how to become Dick's legal guardian.


End file.
